You're Like Me
by Pappenheimer
Summary: Erik has finally died. Yet, it does not seem that Fate is done with him. In the Great Beyond, he meets Gwynplaine, a man with a visage like himself on the outside but with a pure soul. Phantom of the Opera x L'Homme Qui Rit. Might continue depending on time/interest. Possible expansion to include other stories.
1. Chapter 1

If Gwynplaine and Erik were to ever meet.

Scene: The Beyond.

It had finally happened. He was dead. How it had happened, he didn't care to dwell on it. Christine was happy, and music – sweet, beautiful music – had been playing. Now, he examined his surroundings. It was a vast abyss, filled with nothing, and yet everything all at once. Amid it all he noticed the form of another. It was a boy – no, a man. He was too far to tell clearly his age, and to Erik, everyone was essentially his younger. This person couldn't have been much older than the young Vicomte de Chagny.

With a thought, Erik was by the boy's side. Glancing at the boy's face, he realized the boy had a scarf around the lower half of his face, obscuring his visage. Unconsciously, Erik reached to ensure his own black mask was in place. It was.

The boy turned to look at him. "I have been waiting for you," he said calmly, staring right into Erik deep golden eyes.

Erik looked the boy up and down. "Are you cold?" he remarked somewhat sarcastically. The boy's eyes shifted to give a look of annoyance, before turning to mischievousness.

"You would know. I would suspect a man with a Death's Head to be more considerate of others. But," the boy tugged the scarf down, revealing his face, "I am like you."

Erik, though surprised, showed none of it when confronted with the ghastly visage. It was almost as terrible as his own. Instead of a mockery of life, the boy's was a mockery of happiness.

"I don't hate them for what they've done to me," the boy said plainly.

"'They'?"

"The men who changed my face. The Comprachicos. The King."

"How can you feel no anger toward them? I've raged against the heavens for being created this way. And you – you whom mortal men dared to play God with – find no fault in them?"

"I never said I was not angry. No. When they deigned to "give me what was mine," so to speak, I railed against them. But, I cannot be completely unhappy with them either. Had they not abducted me and mutilated me and left me for dead, I never would have met Dea."

"Dea?"

"You could say we were like brother and sister. I found her forever blinded by the snow – blinded from my face, but the only one who could ever truly see me. You thought you had that."

"Christine…"

A silent pause fell between the two of them. Erik was the first to break the silence.

"Even being cursed with such a face, you've managed to find love?"

"Yes."

"And yet, you're so young here…"

"Strong flames burn through wax the quickest."

Erik laughed at that. "And here I was, clinging to death, when all it took was a taste of life to end my pitiful existence."

"Pitiful? Perhaps only because you made it so. Have you not seen the wonders you created? The lives you've impacted?"

"All those people I sent to Death, you mean? My wonder Hall of Mirrors? Or perhaps the jolly little grasshopper and the lovely scorpion."

"Your Palais Garnier? The music you created that could be felt on the streets? The gratitude between the Vicomte and the singer for strengthening their love?"

"You must be madder than I!"

"You're too blinded by your hate. Have you thought about why you are here and not in the next?"

"What?"

"Here in Limbo."

"What?"

"Until you can come to terms, I have been assigned from the Beyond to be your Guide. Now, walk with me. Your adventure only now begins."


	2. Chapter 2

Falling

Falling

Falling.

The light ensconced him and again he felt as if he were falling into Death. At least until he found himself flat on the pavement. Unceremoniously, he stood, an ireful expression plastered on his face. "Well? What is this now?" he asked the other man, looking around at the strange surroundings. It seemed like a neighborhood, normal enough. There were houses, sidewalks, roads – everything a little town should have, but it was different. There were great big poles with strings running down the streets, and the queerest looking cars sped by.

"Welcome to the Middle World," the other man said rather plainly. "It is, in its most basic form, a continuation of your previously life, only with every single other person who has passed on."

Erik eyed the man suspiciously. "Well, then, Oh Great Guide. Pray, tell me my purpose in this continuing damnation."

The other man subconsciously touched his scarf, before replying "Really, it's like a second chance. To try to have the life you lost. And, please, call me Gwynplaine." The man gestured for Erik to walk with him. It was a sunny day, and there were people on the sidewalks. Loathingly, Erik joined Gwynplaine, falling into step beside the shorter man.

Inconspicuously, Erik glanced at the people as they passed. No one stared. No one screamed. They all appeared normal; yet two men with concealed faces struck no terror within them. Rather, it was more so that they seemed to just no longer care. But then, how often it is that the strange and extraordinary are ignored so that routine might not be broken. Still, as he became more used to these denizens of this "Middle World," the more he began to pick up on little tell-tale ticks. No, they might not appear outright terrified, but there was suspicion. Little shifts of the eyes. A small step away. Pace slightly hurried. Little things.

"Here we are." Gwynplaine said, opening a little white wooden gate to a quaint little two-story cottage. Erik stopped on the threshold, taking in the situation.

"What is this?" he asked, brows furrowing in suspicion.

"It's my house. I thought you might like to have a place to live while you adjusted to life," Gwynplaine replied, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice.

Before Erik had a chance to respond, he heard a low growl followed by a deep, guttural bark. Erik started, confused. It sounded like a wolf, but they were in such a civilized neighborhood.

"Ah! Homo!" Gwynplaine exclaimed, reaching down and embracing the wolf in his arms. "It's alright; Erik's a friend," he repeated as he stroked the beast.

Erik scoffed at that statement. "What kind of person keeps a wolf as a pet?" Erik remarked to himself, disregarding all of the odd peculiarities he himself had done in life. Still, was it not better to be called a friend than an enemy or outsider?

"One who is distrustful of people," a gruff voice called from the threshold to the house. A tall, burly form stood in the doorway. His features were rugged with age, the scowl plastered on his face not hinting at any supposed handsomeness from youth. No. This was a man who was an outcast – a traveling performer like those Gypsies. He glanced from Gwynplaine back to the man, trying to appraise the man.

At once, Gwynplaine stood. "It's okay; he's with me," he said, trying to calm the new man.

Erik gave Gwynplaine a queer look. "I can see for myself I'm not welcome," he said, preparing to turn a leave. Too often he'd faced angry people, and he didn't want to renew the trend of angering every person he met. At least, not yet.

"No, no. Ursus, uh, this is Erik. He's the new one here. I thought he could stay with us while he gets used to life here." Gwynplaine said hurriedly, trying to calm the two men.

Ursus glared at Erik. "You behave yourself, you get yourself some work, and we'll see about the long term then," Ursus stated gruffly. "Your room'll be up on the second floor, with Gwynplaine." With that, Ursus made to retreat further into the home, grumbling something about not having enough stew to accommodate the extra person for dinner.

"Those sound like agreeable terms, though, perhaps behaving myself could be the most challenging," Erik remarked cavalierly.

"Do try to be peaceful. Ursus is very protective of my sister."

"You have a sister?"

Before Gwynplaine could respond, Ursus poked his head back out again. "I nearly forget. Gwynplaine, be sure to tell Erik of the house rules."

Erik and Gwynplaine looked at each other. Erik made a face. Gwynplaine took a breath. "They're not all that bad. It's mostly things like 'be home before 10pm curfew,' and 'uncover your face upon entry' and 'no shoes in the house.'"

Erik reeled. "What! I must remove my mask?"

"It's not like anyone will see it."

"Your Ursus will see it."

"Plus, the air is good for the skin; it stops irritations."

"No."

"And Ursus never minds mine."

"No. You at least look like a person. I look like Death."

"Actually, Death looks quite pleasant."

"You know what I mean."

"But, having a death's head for a face can't truly be that terrible."

"OH, so suddenly he knows everything there is to know about disfigurement. I'm not taking it off."

"But then you can't come inside."

"Then I'll just have to live outside. I've had worse conditions," Erik remarked, quickly glancing around, sizing up the yard. Yes. That tree would make a rather comfortable perch.

"But then you won't meet my sister."

"Good. I would be loathe to frighten her to the next Death with my face."

"But she-"

"Gwynplaine?" A light, airy voice called from within the house, drawing closer. "Have I heard you return, Gwynplaine?"

"Dea! I'll be in in but a moment!" Gwynplaine called to the girl. Becoming serious, he leveled his gaze up toward the taller man. "Now, make your choice: are you coming in, or staying out?"


End file.
